


Ice Crystals

by the_sylph_of_mind



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-08 23:44:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sylph_of_mind/pseuds/the_sylph_of_mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snowman goes to the Midnight Crew Headquarters alone and off the books, with the intention of retrieving what's been stolen from her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

        This job was off the books.

        Snowman, usually never bothered by the cold, shivered and pulled her glittering coat closer to her as she flitted down the shadows of the street, no more obtrusive or noticed than a black cat in an alley. She hadn’t told anyone where she was going, or that she was going at all. She intended to be back at the Felt Mansion before her absence was noticed. If it was, well…she’d figure something out. She gritted her teeth, hissing angrily at her crumbling countenance. She never left the Mansion without a backup plan. She never just “figured something out.” She never felt a shot of ice rocket through her, then jet from the Headquarters, barely thinking to grab her whip by her door. She turned a sharp corner, hearing voices and footsteps coming her way and rerouting on the fly, following the rising moon and little else.

        She rounded a dumpster and heard the crunch of broken glass beneath her heel. She backpedaled and eyed the shattered glass lining the alleyway, and with a huff of private humiliation at her lack of observation, she quickly and quietly picked her way through the glimmering fragments. Between hurried, tip-toeing steps, she berated herself that she didn’t at least privately ask Crowbar to clean the glass from the broken window out of her rug in her room before hurrying out of the Mansion’s back door. She would either have to do it herself or explain why the window was broken when she asked for it to be done for her, which would only lead to Scratch asking her why she left for the Midnight Crew Hideout on her own, without notice. She rolled her eyes. If that bite-sized puppet weren’t incubating her boss, she’d never answer to him. After navigating through the last of the shards, she picked up her pace, pattering quickly down the alleyways and side streets, nearing her destination.

        She flattened her back to the wall, peering around the damp corner onto the unassuming street, still save for the steam rising from the gaps in a manhole cover. She narrowed her eyes and took long, silent, purposeful steps toward the column of mist. She scanned the street once more before dipping down onto one knee and lowering her ear close to the ground. She heard the snoring of the big one first, a relief, their main muscle is hard to rouse, even if shots are fired…god, she hoped it didn’t come to shots being fired. She listened harder, able to pick out the whistling snores of the little one, and the unmistakable sleep-threats that Slick muttered nightly. She tisked, a little sickened with herself that she’d spent enough nights with Slick to know that about him. She didn’t expect Droog to snore or mutter or give any other indication that he was asleep and not in fact waiting. She exhaled and guessed she had to risk it.

        She laced her fingers into the grips on the cover and silently lifted it, revealing the dark shaft to the Midnight Crew Headquarters and the ladder leading down to it. She set the cover aside, cursing every miniscule scrape of iron on gravel. She lowered herself into the tunnel and took minutes in between steps, her boots clinking gently on the metal rungs. What seemed like an hour later, her heel connected with the cement flooring of their miniscule hideout. She crinkled her nose. How did they stand living here? Operating out of a literal hole in the ground? She rolled her eyes and thought to herself “Amateurs.” Then again, they’d been professional enough to rob her, right out from under her nose, too. She made a mental note to have somebody guard her door when she showered. This also raised the question of how they’d known she was in the shower to begin with. Her stomach turned and she made another mental note to have curtains installed over the bathroom window. Pigs.

        She glanced around the cement box. She’d never seen it in person, just in photos during meetings and whatnot. It had the planning table, still with the diagram with a gaping circle cut out of it stabbed to the wooden surface. A corner of her mouth lifted; she knew where that missing circle of paper was, and it gave her a small amount of satisfaction knowing that they didn’t. Other than that, the main area was almost bare. A few scraps of unrecognizable things, some licorice candies littered about, a single bare light bulb dangling, dusty, from the ceiling. There was a door on each wall, as she knew there would be, each bearing the symbol of a different suit. They all appeared to be closed, and undoubtedly locked. She didn’t see any light leaking out from under the doors, and the snoring, ranging from meek to laborious, echoed at her from every direction now, making it difficult for her to choose which door to try first.

        Normally she would assume Slick to be the main culprit, followed by the others in some descending order, but something didn’t quite feel right with that deduction this time. Any of them could have tripped a wire, or made a racket, or turned a simple break-in into a bloody death-match, but, she thought, eyes sliding over to the door with the pale pink diamond on it, she would put it past all but one to be able to avoid causing a scene if he didn’t need to. This didn’t feel like a group operation, which was how both she and the Midnight Crew, respectively, always rolled, prior to this night. This was clearly different. This felt personal.


	2. Chapter 2

            Snowman flattened her back to the cement wall next to Droog’s door and silently touched a finger to the cold metal knob. It didn’t resist when she incrementally prodded it clockwise, could it be it wasn’t locked after all? She bent to one knee silently and held an eye to the keyhole. She could see a dim reading lamp lit near the bed, but no other indication of occupancy or wakefulness. She stood, inhaled, curled her fingers around the handle of her whip, holstered at her hip, and gripped the knob, turning it slowly, painfully slowly, until the latch quietly clicked and the door gave, swinging open silently as she peered with one eye through the gap.

            The room appeared to be free of tenants at the moment. She eyed the shadowy corners suspiciously before taking a hesitant step into the room, peering around, whip ready to be unfurled at her side. After a moment of silence, during which if he were here, he would have announced himself, the narcissistic scoundrel, she began quietly opening drawers and shuffling through the contents, through magazines of bullets, small knives, dated pornography, licorice candies, hoping she found it before she got to his underwear drawer. Slick’s boxers were stomach-turning, but for some reason, the thought of touching Droog’s made her…it made her blush.  

            She closed the last drawer and turned to her left to lift a pillow. If it wasn’t here, she would have to search through other rooms, and the longer she stayed here, the more likely she was to be caught, alone, in enemy territory, without backup. It’s not like they would kill her. They all knew better than to kill her.  But she didn’t put it past them to want to rough her up within an inch of her life, given the chance, and she doubted even she could take all of them on at once. She reached to lift the other pillow on the bed.

            “Looking for this?”

Ice slithered its way up her throat. It took her half a heartbeat to swallow the fear, grasp her whip, turn and unfurl it as venomously as she could at the tall, dark figure standing in the doorway, twirling her cigarette holder idly between two fingers.

“Or perhaps you were looking for this?”

            Droog tossed something at her. She knew better than to break her stance to try and catch it. She made a quick sidestep, eyes still trained on him, and heard something soft drape itself on the floor near her foot. Green silk caught the dim light, and she glanced down for a fraction of a second, then glanced again, just to be sure she knew what it was.

            “Why do you have that?”

            “I broke into your room while you were showering and took it.”

She bared her teeth.

            “Why?”

            “Believe it or not,” Droog said, taking a step into the room and slowly, silently, closing the door behind him. “It wasn’t for this.” He traced his fingers down the side of her cigarette holder. She hissed, anger boiling up and tasting like venom in the back of her throat.  “It was actually for that pretty silk negligee. I owed Slick a favor. He fell asleep chewin’ on it. I’d wash it before ya put it on again.” He chuckled. She hated the low, smooth sound. “Ya must have snuck in when I was delicately unweaving it from his teeth. No, this,” He tapped the cigarette holder. “this, I just took on a whim. This is a nasty little thing. Ya damn near blinded my boss, and I don’t fancy you holdin’ onto it long enough for ya to blind me.”

            “I don’t need that to blind you.” She spat the words out at him like acid, “Why don’t you come a little closer so I can prove it?”

            “Don’t mind if I do.” He grinned toothily and took a step towards her.

Light lightning, Snowman flicked her wrist and sent her whip snaking out towards Droog, wrapping his legs together mid-stride. His eyes went wide, and he stumbled, careening onto his hands and knees in front of her, his palms slapping onto the ground, her cigarette holder rolling out of his grasp and under his bed. She planted one foot hard on the back of his hand and he groaned, back spasming from the sudden pain. She couldn’t help but let a fierce, lustful grin slide over her features. He looked good down there, arching his back, on all fours, and in pain. He was prettier than Slick, taller, his build more suited for being aesthetically pleasing in a position of submission. From in between gritted teeth he hissed,

            “Are ya sure that’s the best idea? The second I yell in pain, I’ve got the rest of my gang in here to yank ya off me. And what’ve _you_ got? Boxcars’ll use that as a jump rope, and I _dare_ ya to try and get to your lance before I do.” 

            Her wicked grin slipped off her face. He was right. She was outnumbered and the second he decided he was done bantering with her, she would be in a world of trouble. She glanced around the room and spotted a low chair near a desk. She pressed her foot down ever so slightly more.

            “You will get into that chair. And you’ll do it without using your legs. Like hell I’m letting you out of this snare.”

He lifted his head and raised an eyebrow at her.

            “I get that you’ve got me here, like this, but are ya _really_ in the position to make demands like that?” He smirked. She bared her teeth and let the whip loose with a flick of her wrist, keeping the heel of her boot flat against his hand.

            “Don’t make any sudden moves.” She held the cool handle of the whip against his cheek.  She felt him shy away from it. “You wouldn’t want me to slice open your pretty face.”

            “I admit,” He hissed, “you know my weakness.”

            Snowman took a step back and freed Droog’s hand. He rubbed it gingerly, then raised both his hands to the level of his eyes and slowly stood, open palms facing her, a sly smirk pulling up a corner of his mouth.

            “Chair.” She said, gripping her whip and winding it in a slow circle in the air near her feet.

            “Yannow…” Droog said, his eyes sliding lazily from the floor to her eyes. “ya should really install some curtains in yer bathroom window. Ya wouldn’t want somebody to see something ya don’t want them to see.”

            Fury and embarrassment swelled like a geyser inside her and she brought the whip down on his face.

            Droog was still for a moment, his head bent down and turned away from her. The dim reading light glinted off something dark, something liquid, dripping from under the brim of his hat. She saw his shoulders stiffen and he slowly stood upright, turning his face to her last. A straight, oozing cut ran from the point of his nose to his ear, marring his handsome features.

            “So.” He said, calmly, coldly. “You’ve failed to hold up your end of the treaty, I see.  Guess I have nothing binding me from sudden movements.”

            He charged at her, teeth bared.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depictions of blood, force and violence in this chapter.

            He lashed out, grabbing her whip wrist and twisting it, hard. She gasped in pain and boxed his ear with her free hand. He faltered a step, dazed for half a moment, but did not release her wrist, his nails starting to slice into her skin. She snapped her teeth at him and clawed at his face, opening wider the gash her whip had left. He hissed and twisted her arm further, driving her elbow into her own gut. She grunted, the wind knocked out of her, and her arm beginning to throb sharply. Droog grinned predatorily at her display of discomfort and snaked his other hand around her, pinning her upper arm against her ribs and digging the nails of his other hand into her backside and yanking her close, forcing her body flush with his. The sharp pain in her twisted arm dulled briefly in a rush of adrenaline, her face an inch from his and the heat of his body warming her clothes and filtering through to her skin. She blinked, snapped her mouth shut and kneed him in the groin.

            His eyes went wide in shock and pain, his hands faltering briefly as he bent at the waist, gagging.

            “B… _bitch._ ” He spat.

            “Dog.” She quipped hatefully, and yanked her wrist from his grasp, digging her nails into his face, trying to push herself out of his weakening grip. He hissed and sharply turned his head, catching her fingers in his mouth and biting down, hard. She gasped, feeling his teeth slice open three of her knuckles, and raised her leg to try and knee him again. He caught her calf in a vice-like grip and glared at her as he stood up straight, face pulled tight in pain, and yanked her forward, pulling her against him and lifting her off her feet, unbalanced and strung out, by one leg. Barely touching the floor by the toes of her grounded leg, she tried to kick him, struggling to regain her footing and her balance, blood rushing to her face as her coat rode up her thigh and her crotch rubbed against his abdomen. She knew he could feel how hot she was becoming, and it made her want to claw his stomach out. She curled her fingers into a fist and brought it crashing down onto his jaw. He groaned sharply and bit down on her fingers harder, scrabbling with her free arm for a moment before locking his fingers around her wrist again and twisting, viciously.

            Snowman felt something in her arm bend in a way it definitely was not supposed to bend. She hissed and snapped her teeth at Droog, willing the tears of pain she felt pricking in her eyes to recede.  Droog grinned wickedly around her fingers, her blood pooling in his lip and spilling over as he chuckled. He kicked her barely grounded leg out from under her and her weight pulled her backward into the chair she had minutes ago ordered him to crawl into. He fell on top of her, his weight, not as slight as she had imagined, knocking the wind out of her. She gagged and threw her head back, mouth and eyes wide, back arching as she tried to drag air into her lungs. Droog pulled her arm behind her back and fit it into the new space, crushing his torso against hers and pinning her to the chair. She coughed, tears dampening her lashes as she gasped in a breath, hatefully glaring at the bloodied, handsome face an inch from hers. He curled the fingers of his free hand around her wrist and plucked her bleeding hand from his mouth, spitting blood gracelessly to the side, staining the rug. It was an act that seemed too barbaric, too uncouth for him. She felt her gut clench in fear. He turned his face back to her, panting, but grinning maliciously.

            “Ya look good gasping for air.”

            “You—” She coughed once and swallowed. “You wouldn’t look half bad with one eye.”

            “You dared me to step closer so ya could make that happen, and here we are. I think you’ve lost your chance to blind me, sweet thing. The real question is…” He dug his fingernails into her wrist and pushed more insistently against her, the chair sliding back and roughly clacking against the hard wall. She winced, still struggling to draw breath, and now pinned directly between a wall and a vindictive man whose face she had marred. “… _now_ what do we do?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depictions of blood, force, and violence in this chapter.

            Snowman swallowed and drew in several shallow breaths, too afraid to offer a snarky remark. Droog stayed stubbornly, calmly in place, pinning her roughly, his nose an inch from hers, his breath hot on her face, blood running down his cheek, probably mixing with her own as it crossed his chin before dripping onto her coat.

            “…Well?” He said expectanty, eyebrow raised.

            She chewed her tongue for a moment before, full of false confidence, she offered,

            “We could try a fair fight instead of…whatever this is.”

            “This?” He pushed his chest harder against hers. “Nah, I would call this a fair fight. Except the part where you cut open my face, no, that…” He furrowed his brow and bared his teeth at her for a moment before jamming his chin into her cheekbone and shoving her face to the side with his, his breath hot on her ear as he roughly whispered, “…that broke our gentlemen’s code of conduct, didn’t it?”

            Snowman bit her tongue and clenched her fists, willing the rising nervousness to manifest itself instead into rage-fueled strength. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the sharp pain of his nails digging into her skin or his weight pressed harder against her when she didn’t answer in agreement. Instead, she felt his hot, soft tongue run along the cuff of her ear.

           Her first reaction, before she could stop herself, was to shudder and sigh, her adrenaline-charged body grateful to align itself with another configuration of hyperawareness. It was only after she heard him chuckle at her reaction, low and quiet by her ear, that a secondary response rocketed through her. She sank her teeth into his shoulder and pulled at his flesh with every intention of ripping a chunk out of him. He hissed and jerked away from her instinctively, the sudden shift in weight tipping the chair away from the wall. Snowman ground her heels into the wall behind her and shoved, forcing Droog to bend at the knee and topple, the chair clattering to the side as she pinned him by the wrists. She tasted blood and, not sure whose it was, lifted her teeth from his shoulder and hovered over his face, the gash beginning to seal, but still tender. She glared at him, panting,

           “You…will _never—_ ”

           “Touch ya like that again? The night’s still young.” When he grinned toothily, it crinkled the slice in his face, made it shorter and wider. It was unnerving. Snowman flicked her eyes to the side, under Droog’s bed. She could see her cigarette holder. If she could reach it, she would definitely have enough leverage to keep the upper hand, but if she let go of one of Droog’s wrists, he’d have her back in that chair before she could think. Back in the chair, or…

           She blushed and bit her lip. Droog tilted his head to the side and chuckled.

           “Checking the thread count?”

           “Calculating the best way to torture you and yours once I’m back at the Felt Mansion.”

           “Mhm. You should feel the comforter. My standards are pretty high. Go on, I won’t stop ya. You can’t fully appreciate it unless you lie down and give it a test run.”

           “Be a doll and shut your trap.”

           “Be a doll and try to make me.”

           The dare hung heavy in the air for a moment. Droog’s eyes were lit up mischeviously, still grinning like the devil, something she’d never seen him do during their previous encounters when their gangs collided. She briefly wondered if it was her presence that made him so disconcertingly pleased, or the situation, or both. Despite the gruesome wound on his cheek, he remained sleek and handsome. His mouth curved pleasantly around perfect teeth, and his angled jaw boasted just a hint of stubble to be dealt with in the morning. His tie has loosened during their struggle and hung crookedly to the side, the top button of his black shirt undone, but teasingly remained adjacent with its buttonhole. Droog slid his tongue over his lip and lowered his voice to a husky murmur.

           “Like I said…the night’s still young.”

           Snowman bristled, rage and frustration boiling over and mixing dangerously with how long she’d had enough of Slick’s bullshit. She and Slick had reached a stalemate and he was merely putting about, annoying her from time to time, not giving her nearly the attention she deserved. She was a _Queen,_ damn it. Stealing her lingerie was probably just another passive aggressive attempt to irritate her. He didn’t even do it himself. Ass.

           With her hands occupied by immobilizing Droog and her face already an inch from his, she staved off the aggressive impulse long enough to justify it.

            _“If nothing else, this will get Slick’s attention.”_

           And sank her teeth into his lower lip. Droog made to cry out in pain, but she forced her mouth over his, muffling his expletive, pushing him down into the rug, biting his tongue every time he snaked it near her lips, finding satisfaction in the groans and sighs Droog produced and not bothering to stem her own. She didn’t stop until she tasted blood, not caring from which party it came.

           Droog gasped for air when she bit his lip a final time and broke the hostile kiss. A sneer curled its way across her face as he panted, enjoying the surprise on his expression, something he clearly wasn’t used to.

           “I’m not one to turn down a dare, Droog. You should be more careful. I could’ve chosen a much less pleasant way of shutting you up.”

He chuckled, still panting.

           “Ya could’ve, but very decidedly didn’t.” He lifted his head from the carpet, nipping her lip. Snowman jerked away and dug her nails into his wrists.

           “Hey! Don’t push your luck.”

           “I don’t know, I’m usually pretty good at playing my cards right. I got you right where I wanted you, after all.”

She swelled with anger and snapped her teeth at him.

           “Don’t you dare try and play me.”

           “Like a saxophone, love.”

She twisted one of his wrists. He hissed and winced in pain.

            “Are you telling me you _planned_ this since the moment you stole my lance?”

            “Well…” He spoke pained, through gritted teeth, but still with a smug grin. “…stealing it? That was just an impulse. Shortly after that? I did start to design something close to this situation,  yeah.”

            She twisted his wrist harder, his face tightening in pain.

            “How… _dare y—”_ She paused, flicking her eyes to the door and back down to Droog, pinned under her and quite at her mercy for now. She began to chuckle. He raised an eyebrow and grunted,

            “What’s so funny?”

            “That all along, you expected to have the upper hand here.”

Droog’s brows peaked.

            “What do ya mean?”

            “You’ve got something I want. I might propose a trade.”

He stiffened a little.

            “A trade? And what’ve you got that I want?”

            “That missing piece of your tablecloth out there. I know where it is.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depictions of blood, violence, and force in this chapter.

            Droog’s eyes went wide for a moment, then his fingers clenched into fists and he tensed under her.

            “I didn’t know information like that got that far down the food chain.”

            “Oh, you’re cute.”

            “Where’s the paper?”

            “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

            “I would, in fact.” He said through gritted teeth.

            “And wouldn’t I like my lance back?”

Droog squirmed under her and she smirked. Pinned in more ways than one now, Droog let out a growl and rolled his eyes.

            “I ain’t giving you back your lance when ya can impale me right here and now.”

            Snowman’s lips thinned. Even between members of rivaling gangs, it wasn’t unreasonable to deny her request. Droog watched the gears turning in her head and a smirk slid over his face, guessing what she was thinking.

            “You know I’m right, don’t you?”

Snowman curled her lips back and twisted his wrists. Droog winced, but kept smirking.

            “Don’t be a arrogant ass about it.”

            “That’s sort of my whole act.” He lazily traces his tongue along his upper lip before clicking it at her. “That would be like asking you not to be a malicious bitch.”

            Snowman’s eye twitched. It was tolerable when Slick called her such things, as was the nature of their relationship. But coming from Droog, the words stung more. They bore more weight, more poison, and they infuriated her more. She leaned her face slowly closer to Droog’s until they were nose-to-nose, her breath hot on his face.

            “Say that again.” She dared, through clamped teeth, her voice full of venom. Droog just smirked and narrowed his eyes at her.

            “Those words exactly? I have a whole arsenal to choose from. How does ‘contemptuous whore’ sound?”

            Snowman raised her hand and brought it down on his face, opening again the wound on his cheek. He hissed in pain and bit down on his lip, but only briefly. He had a hand free, and he wasted no time grabbing Snowman by the throat and throwing her into the hard wooden frame of the bed. The back of her skull made contact with the aged oak.

            Her head seemed to split open in sudden agony and she let out a muted, strangled noise of surprise and pain. Her vision paled and she soon lost the room in a dazed fog. Droog yanked his other wrist out of her faltering grip and scrambled to his knees, grabbing her roughly by the arms and heaving her onto the bed. Still stunned, Snowman flopped like a ragdoll onto the comforter, letting out a distant groan of protest.

            Droog panted heavily, one knee on the bed, hands still planted forcefully at her shoulders, when he noticed Snowman’s lack of struggling. Her eyes were closed and her mouth wasn’t sporting a superior smirk or drawn tight in a hostile scowl, but slightly parted and relaxed. Droog raised an eyebrow, never before considering a scenario where he could knock Snowman out cold to be possible. His grip on her shoulders loosened incrementally. Was she faking it to try and get his guard down? He bit his lip and slowly relaxed his grip on one of her arms, sliding his hand over her breast and squeezing.

            …Nope, nothing. She was definitely unconscious, or he doubted he’d still have the other half of his face. He guardedly removed his other hand from her arm and stood up straight, but not before giving her breast a more appreciative squeeze. He exhaled slowly and looked her over, wondering what to do now.

            He could carry her, but to where? The best place to keep her until she gave up where the missing part of the plans in the common room was was right here. He supposed he could tie her up in the common room and rouse everyone to help him convince her to release the information, but…none of them are ever in a good mood when they’re woken up…they might get a little too rowdy and accidentally kill her, and the end of the universe was literally the last thing anyone needed. No, he thought, reaching into his drawer and pulling out a box of cigarettes, his options were pretty limited. He tapped one out of the carton and retrieved his lighter from his pocket, bringing the flame to life on the first try and breathing through the cigarette, its end lighting up orange and ashy.

            Although, he thought as he exhaled a swirl of smoke and his gaze slid over to his wardrobe, as soon as she came to, she’d make a break for it…tying her up wasn’t a bad idea. He held his cigarette between his teeth as he carefully stepped over to his wardrobe, one eye trained on the unconscious spearhead of their rival gang, and silently lifted the latch, the wardrobe swinging open, revealing his neatly organized collection of clothing. His eyes slid immediately to the rows of ties and belts. He decided that belts would do better. It’s tough to get blood out of silk. 


End file.
